The galaxy is a very large place.


So large in fact, that it was nearly impossible to watch or patrol every single inch of it. Since the begining of manned spaceflight, generations upon generations before, the civilizations of the galaxy have strived to find new ways to expand their abilities.

Since the very original galactic-spanning empires and republics, every sentinets have tried to come up with new ways to protect and patrol their borders. And not just their borders, all of the territory.

Beyond the major hyperlanes and the core worlds, there really wasn't a whole lot out there. Mostly just empty space, with nothing interesting at all.

And since the beginning of the great civilizations, their enemies have come up with new ways of remaining undetected.

And in the thousands of years since, they have become very, very good at it.

So it was a relatively simple thing for six very stealthy Birds of Prey (along with accompanying support craft) to sneak past the Imperial patrols and move to within a lightyear of the Imperial industrial world of Muunilist.

Although it was impossible to remain completely undetected, the Birds of Prey had other options available. The Union very carefully scheduled, through shady deals and front companies, a caravan of six "transport ships" to move through Imperial territory on it's way to the outer rim.

Imperial trade was a bustling industry. With all the territory the Empire had accumulated, domestic import/export was a trillion-credit business. With hundreds of thousands of merchant vessels moving through Imperial space, it was next to impossible to monitor everyone.

Still, the Birds were very carefull to stay away from any and all vessels. This required frequent (but subtle) course changes and corrections, so the infiltration required much more time than originally planned.

But nonetheless, they had nearly reached their target, and now, sat motionless, within a lightyear from their target, preparing and waiting until the appropriate time to strike.


The Birds of Prey were actually leftovers from the old Outer-Rim Sovereignty. Originally created and produced at Bakura, at the time of production they had been one of the most infamous predators in the Galaxy. They were the symbol of the Sovereignty, and of it's might.

And as it were, a symbol of it's fall.

Recently, other corporate shipbuilding entities had acquired the designs for the vessels and they were actually a fairly common vessel in the Galaxy, serving in a few planetary militias and defense forces across space.

But it was known (perhaps only really to Imperial Intelligence, as well as the other high-level intel organizations across the galaxy) that the Birds of Prey were still being used by the founder of the Sovereignty.

Xander Griff.

Probably the most wanted man in the Galaxy, he was also the most scorned and despised man since Palpatine himself.

It was known, to only a select few, that he was still alive, still active, and still very capable of lots and lots of damage.

And so they waited, completely silent, with all systems powered down and the hulls dark. They were well removed from all hyperlanes into Muunilist, so there was little fear that they would be discovered. It is, though, possible they would eventually be discovered if they waited too long. But that was not the mission.

The clock continued to tick down.

And suddenly, the moment arrived.


The Birds came alive. And with nothing more than a touch of the button, a long-since preprogrammed microjump was activated.

And in mere seconds, they were greeting the people of Muunilist.

Shields up, weapons activated.


"Hello, Empire."

Muunilist

The financial capital of the Empire was a busy place. Given the vast ammount of territory governed now by the New Order, over one thousand inhabited systems, trade between all of these worlds was a business worth untold trillions of credits.

And, as such, a business that was bound to be exploited. A business that would draw attack from those few fringe groups that claimed to offer resistance to the Empire.

But in a pie so large as the New Order of the Galactic Empire, any damage done to that business was merely a crumb - the Empire had become so large, so accustomed to the ill-coneived attacks on its sovereignty, that it hardly blinked when it was once again made a target.

Muunilist, a world famous many times over: its role in the Clone Wars had nearly seen the end of the Republic. It's role in the Civil War, the heart of the Empire, 'Moneylend', had seen the end of the New Republic (in spite of a failed attack against her by the Republic in one last-ditch effort at shifting the balance of power). And under the Arliss family, the Industries and the Towers, it had flourished exponentially.

Naturally, Muunilist was to be a target. And naturally, it was to be well protected. Of the 'fortress worlds' of the New Order, only the respective capitals of the various Protectorates (and Imperial Centre itself) were better defended. Orbital stations, including the monstrous Epsilon Class Station stood sentinel, flying the banner of the New Order alongside an entire detatchment of the Home Fleet.

For any enemy, Muunilist was to be a 'tough nut' to crack. For an enemy flying outdated and poor-to-begin-with machines, it would be impossible.

Which led the Admiral charged with the defence of the planet feeling only slightly out of place: a fleet of enemy warships he could deal with, he had no doubt. But a handful of tiny ships, none larger than a Strike Cruiser?

What was this enemy playing at?

And so he did what he knew best: he raised shields, and the planet did likewise, protecting itself in a triple-thick layer of energy that an entire legion of Star Destroyers could scarely hope to breach. Thousands of transports in holding orbits found themselves trapped between the planet-based defences and the Epsilon defence; for their own safety, a message told them.

And, at last, the Empire sent out a standard query. It demanded, quite simply, that the opposing commander lower his shields and declare his intentions.

And the Empire waited.

"Excuse me sir."

Bruce Pitt steeled himself. Now came the moment of truth. With as much nonchalance as he could manage, he looked casually over his shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The man speaking was dressed in business attire, his hair immaculate. He was some sort of manager, or associate. Probably called out by the bank security guard after he had hustled inside, donned in black fatigues and shaded glasses, carrying a black suitcase.


The expression on the man's face was a mixture annoyance and disbelief. His expression conveyed a simple message:

Who the hell do you think you are; marching in here like that, offering no explanation.

The associate or manager, whatever he was, was used to being the top of the bureaucratic chain. This was his fiefdom. His voice was calm, but the threat of authority lay behind it.

Bruce molded into his role. With a casual flick, he shot out a holographic identification device. The familiar Imperial logo shot out, a floating ebony sphere, the color signifying ISB. Below it a picture and several lines of text stood out.

"My name is Randon Urlis, Imperial Security Bureau. An enemy force has just exited hyperspace and is threatening this world. I am on orders to perform a ISB code 17 Epsilon, and I would really appreciate it if you let me go about my business."

The code, taken from a stolen ISB directive listing, signified that Bruce was temporarily freezing the assets of the bank to protect them in the event that hostile forces captured Muunilist. Randon Urlis was the real name of an ISB agent who the Union had targeted, assassinated, and replaced with Bruce. When this mission was over, his body would be discovered, brutally mutilated and burned, in a mock up of a landspeeder crash. The identifier was real, taken of Randon's personage.

The associate's face morphed from annoyance to genuine surprise.

Bruce didn't let him get a word in edgewise. No respecting ISB agent would have.

"COMPNOR directives state that we must secure the assets in this institution in case of the unlikely event that Muunilist's defenses are breached. Any obstruction of my duties is to be considered aiding and abetting the enemies of the New Order."

The associate's aura of authority crumpled.

"Open this door please, then leave me be."

The associate did. He unlocked a small door marked Authorized Personnel Only.

Bruce proceeded without a look back or another word.

He was in.

Weeks- months- of planning began kicking in. He knew the internal layout of the Imperial Regency Bank of Muunilist by heart. He knew what security systems protected what, the shifts of guards and employees who worked in the back of the largest facilitator of financial transactions on Muunilist.

He knew what temperature the air conditioning was set to on each day of the week.

He knew information that couldn't possibly have any relevance to his mission, unless things that no one expected somehow happened. And he would be ready.

Still, the best thing about this mission, was that if everything went well, no one would ever know he had even shown up. The chances of his detection were minimal. Especially as the entire planet scrambled to deal with the sudden appearance of galactic terrorist Xander Griff over Muunilist.

Remaining in character, Bruce began walking down the first hallway he needed to traverse to make it to his target.

Three Days Previously



Griff sipped on his standard cup of stimcaf as he stepped up to the recording microphone. His aide and secretary, Gerda, stood close by, holding a datapad up to him. He read it once over and nodded to her, who signalled to a controller near the back of the room.

He spoke boldly and powerfully into the microphone, wondering if the few people watching him now noticed how easy it was for him to slip back into his "President" role. A role he had assumed for years, and even though he still felt bitter about his downfall and that of the Sovereignty, the role still felt absurdly familiar to him, and he almost wanted to balk at the notion of ever becoming such a man again.

"Imperial Commander,

My name is Xander Griff. I am the former President of the Outer-Rim Sovereignty and I am the most wanted man in the entire Galaxy. I am the quickest way to promotion, and your meal ticket for the rest of your pitiful little life. I have been challenging the Empire my entire life, and it has all come to nothing. I have nothing else to live for. please give me the honorable death of a soldier."

The microphone was shut off and Griff stepped back, sipping on the stimcaf Gerda handed him. He smiled wistfully,

"If only that were true."



Present Day - Bird of Prey 6256


Necrotroopers were perhaps the msot disturbing thing to happen to warfare since the beast riders of Onderon. Nothing more than mindless zombies, they lived only to do as they were told... or "programmed".

Programming one, or groups of them, was such a ridiculously easy task a child could do it.

Mindless zombies.

Fit for nothing else than death and extermination.

But they did have their uses. They were capable of anything, as long as their programming allowed them to do so. They could fire a weapon, operate and fly a ship, reload a turbolaser...


And they could press buttons.


Which is what Necrotrooper 2-759542 had been programmed to do. At the precise time, his programming would take over, and compell him to do one thing and one thing only.

Push the button.

Which he did.

It was his only job.


And as he pressed the button, a message was played...


"Imperial Commander,

My name is Xander Griff. I am the former President of the Outer-Rim Sovereignty and I am the most wanted man in the entire Galaxy. I am the quickest way to promotion, and your meal ticket for the rest of your pitiful little life. I have been challenging the Empire my entire life, and it has all come to nothing. I have nothing else to live for...please give me the honorable death of a soldier."


After the prerecorded message was transmitted, the Birds of Prey began a flurry of activity, entering into a complex flight pattern, heading straight for the Imperial line of defense.

Although small, the Birds were well equipped for battle and were highly manuverable, able to evade all but the best shots from Imperial defenses.

Opening fire, they plunged into battle, coming close to the enemy line of defense, so close that the Imperials would have to be careful, for they could hit their own vessels in the crossfire.

The fight was on.

*

The associate, as per protocol contacted the On-Duty Financial Officer to log the ISB agent's presence.


The Financial Officer was not amused. "Did you request confirmation?" he growled.


"Well, he said that we are under attack.."


"FROM WHOM?!" shouted the Officer. The associate began to tremble. His second day was not going very well. It was always a thin line to walk when dealing with ISB agents.


"I don't care if he's Emperor Hyfe himself!" the Financial Officer commented. "We don't let just anyone into the damned building!"


The associate blanched. "What do I do?"


"Rectify the situation, I would think." The Duty Officer commented. "I have to report this." The officer turned to someone out of sight, "Activate the astromechs, Cara."


The transmission ended and the associate began to feel the strain of being between a rock and a hard place.


He turned to the door marked Authorized Personnel Only.

"I'm telling you Hact, this move by Belgardi Ltd. is a surprise."

The aging man in the holonet receiver frowned, "Belgardi Univseral now, Ms. Arliss. And why is it surprising? Many companies absorb smaller entities to fill their coffers."

"The Empire is not going to take lightly the transition of their business relationship with Agro, Inc. The fact that Belgardi refused to notify the Empire of the purchase to renegotiate raises many warning flags. I'm telling you," Jenice leaned forward, "The Empire will act."

"I agree that it was unnecessary to draw the Empire's ire over something so small. It's hard to determine what the Empire will decide to care about from month to month, though."

Jenice agreed and then folded her hands across her chest, "So, how is the hyrbid grain working out?"


"Hybrid?" the older man named Hact, who, incidently, was CEO of the Cassion Interest.


"Don't play dumb, Hact. You've been angling for the Imperial account for months! Agro may not appreciate the business but I know you do. And if you can pull the government account from Agro, now Belgardi, that would triple your stock options."


The older man laughed. "I never could operate a secret project on the same planet as your family. Right now, our project has been stalled."


"Stalled?"


"Two words: Ortho Gutt."


And then Jenice laughed. "Too much money to bribe that fat bastard?"


"That 'fat bastard' may be a fool but he's a shrewd fool. He knows what side his money is buttered on."

"...please give me the honorable death of a soldier..."

If there was one thing the Empire was good at, it was delivering on that particular brand of promise. Nonetheless, the Imperial Force Commander could not repress his contempt as he muttered "soldier? Terrorist, more like".

The Empire was fortunate to have had experiance in fighting Bird of Prey class vessels, the ORS having relied almost entirely on them during thier failed campaign.

If the War was any evidence, the Bird of Prey was not a vessel to put a lot of faith in.

They came in hard, weapons firing as quickly as they could recycle, against the first Imperial line. They were met with equal fire, the most deadly coming from the Thorne Dreadnaughts, moving their entire bulk to track the enemy vessels and scoring dozens of hits against their frontal shields.

By the time the enemy ships had broken off this initial attack, weaving themselves into the Empire's lines, at least one was limping, trailing debris from where turbolaser fire had penetrated its shields and tore gashes from the hull.

It was easy pickings for the second line. The heavier Imperator Star Destroyers and Star Avenger platforms that could not so easily track the Birds at full speed opened fire on the stricken vessel, attacking it with a vengeance that would soon leave it dead in space, or worse.

Amidst the first line the Dreadnaughts continued their deadly barrages, swinging around to track and fire on the Birds, their heavy weapons loads quickly eating up precious shield power aboard the enemy ships.

The battle would be over in short order.

One Day Earlier
Local Cantina

Nathanial Himme, Chief of Transactions, sat at his usual seat after a long day of work at the Imperial Regency Bank, quietly sipping his drink as he unwound from another busy day of moving around the Empire's money. The band in the corner was quietly playing away as the smokey atmosphere swirled with the usual patrons. It was during this time an argument broke between two more recent patrons and a rather large bar fight started to break out. Nathanial finished off his drink and made for the back door, not wanting to get involved. As he did, he felt the wave of sleepiness hit him and tumbled to the ground unconcious. Two waiting figures picked him up and dragged him away to a speeder. As they opened the passenger door, a masked face became visible, it was an odd two tone mask. The men loaded their unconcious prey in, closed the door, and drove off.

Midnight of that Day
Undisclosed Warehouse

Nathanial woke groggily from his dreamless sleep, his head was pounding severely, like a rancor had set on it. What was worse than his apparent hangover were the surroundings. It proved to be a large, stocked warehouse, the middle empty with only a table that he sat. He sat up and jumped as he saw the quiet masked figure sitting there, watching him.

"Who the hell are you!?"

"Good afternoon, Mister Himme"

"Where the fuck am I, you masked bastard?!?"

"Now, now, Mister Himme, such language is unnecessary. You should be focusing more on your family's safety at this moment."

The masked man flicked a picture out of Nathanial's wife and little girl, bound and gagged.

"Oh god, where's Mari? Where's Synthia? What have you done with them!"

"They're safe for now, Mister Himme, but they're lives are now in my hands so you better do what I want or you'll regret it deeply. Afterall, I can see from how you act, you're a close family man, aren't you Mister Himme?"

"Y...yes..."

"And you'd do anything to see them safe, wouldn't you?" the masked man said in his calm, unnerving voice.

"Yes..." Nathanial now looked down at the table, his hands clutched into fists.

"Very well, we have a small job for you to perform within your bank."

"You want me to help rob it, don't you..." Nathanial looked up coldly.

"What an amateur idea," Thrax said dismissively.

"What?"

"Robbing a bank, honestly, do you take me for some sort of common criminal?"

"We merely wish you to perform a small transaction for us by inserting this into the system," Thrax tossed a disk across the table.

"What is this?"

"A little worm, nothing serious, it won't even hurt the bank. Thus, no one will notice its there. Besides no matter how hard they work, even if you tell them, it'll be hardwired into the financial programming, completely untouchable and impossible to find unless the Empire rips out the whole database, which they wouldn't. We all know that would destroy the very large financial system they've built out of their severely aggressive conquests."

"What will it do..."

"You're a banker, Mister Himme, and everyone knows that banks use fractions and percentages in their transactions. For every action, say a single tenth of a credit somewhere might be lost, but instead that little fraction will be sent to a very indiscreet array of accounts, in banks outside of the Empire."

"But we have trillions of credits pass through here all the time! You'll be making huge sums of money from this!"

"Indeed, the Empire won't even feel an itch, yet we shall become very very wealthy thanks to their Imperialist urges to use a unitary banking system."

Himme couldn't believe what he was hearing, this masked man was proposing something so insane it could actually work. No one ever paid attention to those extra small percentages, not even the Empire's accountants. They were seemingly worthless, but what was being proposed, it would siphon huge sums of money off to whoever this maniac was. What could Himme do, he couldn't betray the Empire, could he? After all his life of servitude and reward for it. Yet Synthia's face flashed through his mind and his eyes started to tear up.

"Bastard!"

Himme threw himself across the table at the masked man, sending them soaring to the floor. He started slamming the masked man's head against the ground with utter rage, causing the face plate to come free and fall away. Nathanial stopped and backed away in horror at the face beneath. It was beyond mutilation, the skin completely peeled off, leaving only muscle and flesh. Only the left eye was there as well, the other an empty socket with wires running to the face plate.

"What are you...."

Omega Thrax reached up, resealing the mask and then punching Nathanial hard in the stomach, sending him to his knees and gasping for air.

"I am the man holding your family hostage, that is all you need to know, you fool. Now do what I want or the only way you'll see them is in pieces."

"Alright... I'll do it..."

"One more thing, this is only a backup plan, should our real operative fail. Just remember, you can be a loving father or a patriot, but not both. Await a message from me for your instructions. If our man fails, you'll be ordered to insert the worm, if not, come home, we'll return your family to you and never bother you again."

"You swear?"

"You have my word."

"Fine, I'll be your damn little Plan B."

Nathanial looked down at the ground, shaking with fear and rage for he was now nothing more than a pawn. He could do nothing, because he loved his family too much, he'd give his life to save them and then he considered suicide. Could that save them...

"Don't think taking your own life will save your family either," Thrax said as if reading his mind. "I'll gurantee you I'll slice them up and sell them as Bantha fodder then."

Nathanial dropped to his knees again and sobbed, until he felt the gloved hand tilt his view upwards.

"As a show of goodwill, I'll let you speak to them, but only short questions, no discussion. Anything that violates what I want and I'll kill them now. Understand? The only way you can save your family is to obey me."

"Yes sir."

Nathanial Himme looked down at the ground, realizing that in a few days time he might be forced to betray the Empire he loved and served for so long. As he thought about this, Thrax handed Nathanial the comlink to his family. True love was always greater than ideals...

Bruce Pit rounded the first corner, turning right, and stopped after his body had disappeared from sight. No surveillance camera could see him, not for another two and a half feet. He used the tiny dead spot in the bank's camera coverage to his advantage, opening the black briefcase at his side. He removed a tiny, circular device, and pushed it firmly onto the wall, a little above waist-height. A singular red beam shot out until it met the wall on the far side of the hall, then suddenly became invisible. Bruce closed the briefcase and started moving again.

He had his pattern down pat. He followed the hallway for two intersections, walking briskly but not at an unusual pace. His tinted glasses and steely expression served as a buffer in the event of a random encounter with a bank employee. So far, none had occurred. At the third intersection he reached he hung a left.

He stopped just as he had after turning the first corner, staying comfortably in another tiny dead zone of the bank's security system. He retrieved another small object from his briefcase, almost identical to the one had had placed before, and pressed it to the wall. After the confirming beam of light shot out, he walked onward.


The Imperial Regency Bank of Muunillist was not the sort of bank everyday people would march into to deposit savings or apply for a loan. The best way to describe it was that it was a banker's bank.

The Regency bank was the middleman in hundreds of millions of daily transactions made between countless other financial institutions on Muunilist. For a bank, it kept only marginal cash reserves, but on a total volume of credits handled daily few other banks could match the amount of liquid assets the Regency dealt with. Whether it was transferring money from one branch of banks to another, buying and selling mortgages and loans, providing upfront cash for margin stock purchases or streamlining a corporate merger or takeover, the Regency made money by moving it around. Most of its profits came from miniscule transaction fees, transfer charges and interest that was unsubstantial in every individual case, but because of its volume added up very quickly.

One of the man reasons Regency could stay in business was the selling point that a tiny fraction of its commissions were returned to the financial institutions that it did business with. These returns were complied weekly or monthly and transferred into the general reserves of the institution with which Regency was doing business. To a bank that might handle trillions of credits a year, and record millions in profits, a couple hundred thousand credits was nothing more than a rounding error. Such a boon was usually played up by Regency execs pushing their services to other banks... gobbled up by board members as an easy way to make a couple hundred grand, then promptly forgotten. Just another drop in the ocean.


Bruce Pit continued his march toward his first destination. He took a long hallway that led to a flight of stairs and descended. There was no safety zone where he could work freely in the hallway he was about to enter. The stairwell was covered as well, but Bruce allowed himself to drop his suitcase, having conveniently flicked open the clasps that held it shut. As it clattered to the steps and popped open, Bruce turned, shielding the interior of the case with his body. He palmed a device, closed the suitcase and started walking. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he stopped. He was still on camera, but at a very bad angle.

He tossed the small device he had in his hand into the hallway before him. The sudden glow of an EMP shockwave flooded the hallway. The two menacing battledroids and the numerous security cameras in the hallway shut down as their circuits fried. Bruce stepped into the hallway and smiled at his handiwork. Before him lay the vault door. Opening the briefcase for hopefully the second to last time, he retrieved the largest device in it, and slapped it onto the huge metal door.

He smiled as the red numbers began counting down.

The battle would be over in short order.

And so, it seemed, it would: the Empire's lines of defence where thick, their crews trained to a degree unknown the Galactic Empire, ready to lay down their lives for the defence of their Empire.

The Birds of Prey appeared stunned by the greeting they had received from the Imperial defence: they continued along in their same formation, reacting to the fire coming at them from all directions only with what meager return fire they could muster.

Against the force of the Empire, it was not nearly enough. The ship that had been previously damaged was dead in space, her battered hull leaking oxygen in bright white spurts, engines dead and batteries silent. Two more of the small vessels were listing now, their shields collapsed and their hulls taking the brunt of the attacks made against them.

They would not long survive the storm of fire coming at them.

The Imperial line continued to hold, content to keep the enemy vessels from reaching the planet, firing at them as they came by but not giving chase. The Birds were literally running the gauntlet, passing each of the Empire's ships and stations in turn and suffering their fire.

One could only wonder at the mentality of the commander who would order such a manouvre.

Frowning, the FC looked to the dead Bird.

"Bring me that ship."